The urchins dig my butt pockets… Are broomsticks believable?
"Retired diplomat on a pension who devotes himself to volunteerism."
That's what Germany tells people when they ask what I do for a living. Of course I think it's an unawesome lie. All the kids I know don't know what "pension" means, and I'd rather say I had some military experience, but the German armed forces in the twenty-first century are… let's just say they're another snarl of armpit hair in Germany's shower drain.
We've been rolling with my fake alias for so long that even I have no trouble spitting it out at Frau Froemming. I think it creates more questions than answers. Retired? Diplomat? When you're so young? Or are you actually old? How long did you work as a diplomat? For what branch of government? Germany provides the answers — quite good ones, I should add. We can't have people thinking I was in illegal business. I was a legit diplomat! I spoke with France and Austria directly!
We're aware most people think I'm a delusional nutjob. Germany knows people think I'm a nutjob. They think he's a nutjob too. He's young, intelligent, frankly an Adonis, and guess what, he's a diplomat, too! Or did we change that? He's a student intern with Parliament working from home… is that the story? Gott, it's so BS. Everybody used to know countries are people. We were like deities, or some shit! Or maybe that was my ego talking. Still! Why does everything nowadays have to be so secretive and convoluted? Is it because of the Internet? That "Here Comes Everybody" mentality wanting to slap personal politics on everything? Come on. I've been telling people on the Internet that I'm Prussia since I opened my blog! Do they all want to worship me? No… But do they want to put my head on a stick? Equally NO!
I'm crazy. Germany's crazy. We're fine with being crazy. We pay our mortgage and auto bills and utilities, and we can still afford dog food and sports drinks and all-raspberry gummy bears. And you know what? I do devote myself to volunteerism most days… when I'm not sneaking off to meetings or becoming half-liquid so I can squeeze down the drain and untangle all that hair.
Today I really think I've scored big. I've been invited to give a motivational speech! To middle-schoolers! It's at the school where Georg up the street goes with all his Pokémon-playing buddies. If I wriggle myself in here now, I'll have a secure hold when the Poké Ball betas are ready to test! Plus, I'm perfect motivational-speaking material! A little crazy. A lot of charisma. And a tragic backstory that'll make teachers cry and parents cringe!
"We have a whiteboard set up for you if you want to draw. Stephan set up the sound system this morning. You should be good to go," says Herr Schulte, the school headmaster.
He looks me up and down, scrutinizing my outfit choice. Pink-and-white striped button-down I stole from Germany's closet tucked into my favorite jeans, and a shiny blue bowtie to top it off. He nods. Perfect motivational speaker outfit.
"What is your message?" He then asks. "We have a new program at the school to reduce bullying, so we have been talking a lot about kindness and treating others well."
"Oh," I say thoughtfully. "I thought this was more of a before-battle speech. Give it your all. All or nothing. Fight for, you know what I mean. Motivation to push forward in the unknown."
He gives me a very odd look. Too much crazy! I gotta lean into the charisma! So I grin and slouch a bit, nodding at his earlier suggestion. "But kindness! Yes! That's very important for these little urchins to know about, too! I've got a story I can tell them about kindness."
"Please don't call my students urchins, Herr Beilschmidt. They're all in there waiting for you. We've got twenty minutes before their next class, so keep it concise."
I nod very charismatically, then stride on into the gymnasium, fully hearing Herr Schulte's secretary asking him what I do for a living, and him replying that I'm a retired diplomat… or so I say.
My heart swells at these middle-schoolers. They're all perfectly rowdy little shits, just like Middle Ages Me. Hundreds of voices are squawking and squabbling at one another, while necks are craned over shoulders to see other necks craned at pointless ipad games. The boys are making dirty jokes. The girls are laughing at them. The nerds are eyeing me, wondering if I'm going to make them sing or play Simon Says. (Nerds are too cool for singing and Simon Says. But they will answer questions, if I offer an incentive.)
Piece of cake. I love this age group. Changing my stride to a sprint, I slide into the microphone and grip it with white knuckles.
"HALLO, MIDDLE SCHOOLERS!"
Half of them give a lukewarm 'Hallo' back. Per the social ritual, I give the next line, this time digging deep into my Prussian essence and spinning my words with a threatening blend of charisma and power.
"YOU CAN DO BETTER THAN THAT! HALLO, AND GOOD AFTERNOON!"
More respond this time. The nerds raise their eyebrows.
"I can see you nerds aren't that interested in my being here. Oh, who's this Gilbert guy? Where did he come from? Is he going to make us sing a bunch of songs, or just tell some serious story that makes us more sad than we already are? Go ahead. I know how you all feel about these kinds of events. Come on, raise your hand if you're happy I came because it means you're missing class!"
Up go the hands.
"Cool! I hate going to class, too! And I'm not saying that just to be cool with you cool kids. I'm well aware than I'm infinitely more awesome than urchins like you."
Herr Schulte winces. He did get my number from Germany, who did a presentation about reading here one time. Ludwig's older brother must be an equally upstanding citizen, right? Right? Right.
"But your lovely headmaster invited me in today because he tells me there's an issue in your school that's so totally unawesome: BULLYING! I hate to even say the word! Ach! It tastes so awful on my tongue! Can you guys taste it? It's like concentrated ginger mixed with diesel fuel and a sprinkling of dog poo. Bullying is a stain on the world, no, forget that. It's a stain on the fabric of reality. I know, because I can see the fabric of reality, and it already has a lot of stains."
Mein Gott, he's a nutjob. Poor Ludwig, Herr Schulte thinks.
"I'm not crazy! Don't think I'm crazy! This is a difficult issue to address! There is bullying in every school in Germany, and it needs to be stopped!"
Here's where we get real. I have many eyes settled on me, completely focused. Yes, it's a real issue. They know what I'm talking about. They get the picture. They want me to continue. But the majority of the gymnasium has their eyes and minds elsewhere. Here we go again. So what if there's a little hurt in the grand scheme of things? Middle school will become high school, high school will become life, and life will become a ticket to the hyperspace highway of puppets and fun!
"What are you all on about?" I ask, leaning back on the provided stool and crossing my legs. "Ah, I get it. You've been told too much about bullying lately. It's not as big an issue as stinky bathrooms or surprise exams, is it. Come on, again, raise your hand if you only like this Gilbert guy because he's getting you out of class."
Even more hands pop up.
"Three, four, five, four hundred. Four hundred students, all taking up the mantle of virtuous apathy and not caring about the issue because it's not personal and too annoying to hear about every day. You can't lie to me. I was your age for hundreds of years. I know what goes on in your heads. Well, I think we've come to a consensus. If you won't listen to a speech about bullying, I won't tell you about it. I was a bully myself as a kid, so I'm not allowed to have an opinion anyway. Instead, I'll talk to you urchins about kindness. You're all capable of a little kindness!"
Herr Schulte is flabbergasted. He's going to give an annoying phone call to Ludwig later today.
"No, Herr Schulte, I have a point here. Let me get to it. You kids often hear about treating people with kindness even if they're different from yourself. That's a good thing to learn. Can any of you look at me and tell me how I'm different? It should be quite obvious."
I rake my fingers through snowy hair and inspect the nails of pale fingers. To the kids close enough to see my eyes, I give a wink.
A few hands raise, quietly, nervously. They won't say it directly. They've already been trained to not point out others' strange appearances.
"Oh, it should be so easy to see! I'm not like the rest of you. Just by looking at me, you can tell."
I hear whispering. White hair. Pink eyes. Like a rabbit? Albino? He looks weird.
"No one wants to tell me how I'm different? You kids are so dense! It's too easy to spot! Say it, say it, say it! Tell me what you got! Out loud now! Tell me what you see! Tell me you see MY BUTT POCKET POCKET DIMENSIONS!"
I screech that last part, and then, gripping the microphone between my teeth, I turn around and pull two full bags of marshmallows out of my butt pockets, followed by a few jars of Nutella, some butter knives, a spare pillow, a full bag of dog food, the painted broomsticks I had to use in place of guns during NATO war games, a few dozen bananas, and several dozen rolls of toilet paper I've stuffed away in case of emergency. Hey, I call these my favorite jeans for a reason!
The room goes absolutely silent. Then the middle schoolers start to laugh. Their voices swell into a cacophony of cackling that echoes so loudly throughout the gym not even the teachers spaced evenly between their classes can undo the damage. I walk around, grabbing various items and shoving them back in. My pockets schlurp up toilet paper like spaghetti, and soon only the rolls are left to roll all over the sweaty wood floor of the place.
"I told you I'm different! I have pocket dimensions inside my butt pockets! BUTT POCKET DIMENSIONS! And you know what else? I have a sword! YOU LITTLE URCHINS WANNA SEE MY AWESOME SWORD!?"
This is the tipping point for Herr Schulte. He rushes over to seize the microphone from me, but I'm faster. With a wave of my hand, he's wrapped up in toilet paper and unable to move. I unclip the butter knife from my belt, then work a slight illusion. Under the cover of a pink puff of smoke, I command the knife to transform. It shimmers and elongates, growing in my hand until it's the unbreakable, unrustable Sword of Preußen. The red gem in the hilt sparkles, and I can't help but grin.
I toss it into my left hand and run through a few complex forms. The kids have my complete attention now. My body moves with precision, each muscle twitching in exactness. My feet pivot. My torso curves. My arm cuts, slices, stabs the invisible foe, then goes back to clashing with phantom steel and splashing away the ghostly blood.
My heart races. My body warms. I start with medieval movements, getting into the groove. We're the Teutonic Knights, conquering Prussia! Wait, I'm Prussia! Shit! Now I'm in the zone! Sixteenth century! Duchy style! Cool and calm, with Brandenburg right beside me! Eighteenth rolls around, awesome kingdom vibes! Rhythm of power! Fritz leads me to victory! I knock the glasses off the ostrich's face! Prussia forever! Prussia, 'til sometime! Not Prussia anymore… Prussia's back, baby! Buttering Brötchen and surfing the celestial 'scape!
My left arm moves quicker than lightning flashing against steel. My trained ears hear a thwit-thwit-thwit…
The toilet paper falls off Herr Schulte, leaving him free of the bond and without a scratch on his body. Bowing, I poof up the pink smoke again and shrink the sword to a butter knife, clipping it back on my belt and patting it nicely.
"I am invincible as long as I'm alive," I whisper to it. A tasteful quote. My lips upturn. "So, kids, have you learned something today!?"
They're just raving. Every ipad is down for the count, and they're all looking on to see what I'll do next.
"You all thought I was going to bore you or disappoint you. But I made you laugh! I drew you in! And that's why you have to be kind to others! Because even if they aren't just like you, they have skills and powers that can shock and amaze! Ya get it!?"
A room full of cheering. There are five minutes left before the next class, so I close my eyes and open my mind. Perfect essence, coming closer… you know, maybe I have to embrace this "Spirit of Chaos" thing. I should be better than these kids, but they're so happy. They'll remember this for months. It'll drive the teachers crazy but… if they're as diligent as I was, they'll make time for learning their whole lives.
The gym floor bubbles, and up pop ten more bags of marshmallows. I take the marker from my breast pocket and sign each one, along with all the toilet paper rolls and bananas:
First be yourself!
Then work hard!
Preußen~
Then I throw each item up into the bleachers. The kids scramble to catch them. Herr Schulte is already escorting me to the door, but I've made my mark today.
When I get home, Germany is waiting for me outside. He directs me to the couch and holds his hand out, expectant. Frowning, I give him my sword. He fidgets with it as he speaks.
"You're never invited back there, and I'm never invited back either, even to read to them. Now what do you have to say?"
"They absolutely loved my sword."
"No. What else?"
"Nothing! They're little shits! They can take or leave a lesson about kindness. All that matters to me is that they had a good time."
"Really. The Great Prussia is fine with making a total fool of himself, signing his name on toilet paper and giving it to the upcoming generation, after he's told them they can take or leave a lesson on being better people."
I lean back into the couch, my smile faltering a bit, then returning.
"You know, I am fine with that. I made them happy. Isn't that our job as nations? Lifting spirits? At that age, all they really need is a good laugh for motivation."
"But you're not…" His face loosens. "You made them happy. You lifted their spirits."
"Yes I did! And by the way, if we have to go with fake aliases, I don't want to be called retired diplomat anymore. It's too vague and not believable anyway."
"We're not saying you were in the military."
"We're saying I'm a magician."
He furrows his brows and nods, considering this. I love his thinking face so much.
"Say, I'm gonna go clean the bathrooms, and then we can start on supper."
"How did you know I was going to ask that?"
"I can sense when your drain's extra hairy."
And we'll leave it at that.
~N~
I have sat through many a motivational speaker... not one of them had a sword. Prussia knows what's up.
Updated by Syntax-N FanFiction . Net July 28th, 2020. Reposters go in the butt pocket. TP for reviewers.